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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636945">Useless Gold and the Moral Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/donttell/pseuds/donttell'>donttell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(but not in a kinky way), Begging, Biting, Bondage, Coercion, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Guns, Hostage Situations, Implied Past Childhood Abuse, Light BDSM, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Painplay, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Scratching, dad issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:02:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/donttell/pseuds/donttell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trent makes a big mistake when he takes on what he thinks will be an easy job. </p><p>(Chapter 1 is a complete story arc, so it can be read as a stand-alone.) </p><p>Please read the tags and/or warning labels at the beginning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marilyn Manson/Trent Reznor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Useless Gold and the Moral Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trent needed money and it seemed like a simple job: keep an eye on the hostage until the ransom was paid. But they didn’t warn him about the hostage... </p><p>(I got inspired by a particular organized crime AU ;) But I ended up making this very different.) </p><p>WARNING LABEL: Psychological/verbal abuse*, very dub dubcon with BDSM elements, bondage, gun (see tags for more) </p><p>*I don’t know if the writing is good enough to make it really bad. But it’s got some textbook abuse and manipulation tactics, some within the context of sex. </p><p>THIS IS A BADWRONG FIC. It is not okay for these things to happen in real life. I know. You don’t have to tell me. I’m telling you. So you can avoid things that might be disturbing to you. If this kind of thing bothers you PLEASE just don’t read it, for your own sake.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The light from the dingey window at the top of the ceiling was getting dim as the man in a suit with long dark hair started to wake up and realize he was tied to a chair. Manson took in the details of the basement workshop: the shelves of tools and hardware, the workbench, the concrete floors, the stark bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling that illuminated the room. It could have been almost anywhere. </p><p>His eyes settled on a figure sitting on the other side of the room wearing jeans, boots, a plain tshirt and a beat up leather jacket. He was reading a newspaper, with his shaggy black hair falling in front of his face. A gun sat on the work bench next to him. </p><p>“Am I supposed to be a hostage?” Manson asked the other man. </p><p>Trent looked up but paused before he answered. “Yes.” </p><p>“That’s cute.” Manson was conversational. “I wonder how long that’s going to last.”</p><p>“They’ll probably pay soon,” Trent told him. </p><p>“Do you want to place bets?” Manson asked.</p><p>Trent looked confused. “You know you’re a hostage, right?” </p><p>“Not for long,” Manson told him. “How long have I been here?” </p><p>Trent glanced at an old, cheap plastic clock on the wall of the workshop. “Hour and a half, maybe.” </p><p>“So what do you think? Three hours? Two and a half?” </p><p>There was a pause. Trent realized the question wasn’t rhetorical. He shrugged. “Maybe four. They’ll probably pay sooner but then you have to be transferred.” </p><p>“Oh, they’re paying?” A patronizing tone started to seep into Manson’s voice. “No, I don’t think so. My guess would be--” </p><p>“Why wouldn’t they pay?” </p><p>“I have a few people who are very good at tracking people down,” Manson said lightly, glancing around the room, more bored and distracted then nervous. </p><p>Trent almost snorted a laugh. Unconvinced. “Really?” </p><p>Manson looked surprised. “You don’t know who I am?” </p><p>“I don’t care,” Trent told him. </p><p>“You should. If you don’t know what you’re getting into, I’m almost worried for you. People call me Manson.” </p><p>“Am I supposed to recognize that?” Trent asked. </p><p>“I’m surprised you don’t.” </p><p>Trent shook his head, almost smiling. “I’m not talking to you.” </p><p>“Why not?” </p><p>“I’m calling your bluff,” Trent told him, turning back to his newspaper. “I’m not playing your games.” </p><p>“You should. I’m told I’m… unpleasant to deal with when I’m bored.” </p><p>“You’re pretty unpleasant right now.” Trent tried to return to reading. </p><p>Manson watched him for a moment before asking “What’s your name?” </p><p>Trent looked up briefly, but tried to go back to reading. “Doesn’t matter.” </p><p>“Do you tell that to every man you bring back at night and tie down?” Getting no response, he added “Commitment issues, maybe?” </p><p>Trent threw him a dark sideways look. </p><p>“I have to call you something. If you don’t give me a name, I’ll just have to come up with one.” Manson waited for a response but didn’t get it. “Sir? Do you like ‘sir’? Or are you more of a ‘whore’ or a ‘slut’?” </p><p>Trent glared. “You don’t need to know who I am.” </p><p>“Honey?” Manson offered. </p><p>“We’re never going to see each other again. I’m not even part of the group, so it doesn’t matter.” </p><p>“You’re not part of the organization?" Manson asked, suddenly a little more interested. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>"Then why did they pick you? Why would you get involved with something like this? You must know those people are dangerous." </p><p>"It’s nothing personal,” Trent told him. “I wouldn’t have taken the job if I didn’t need the money."</p><p>"So they're taking advantage of you.” </p><p>"No they're not." </p><p>“You don’t need to defend them,” he told him. “They wouldn’t defend you. They dragged you into something more dangerous than you realized. They don't give a fuck about you." </p><p>Manson watched as Trent shifted in his chair, trying to keep looking down at the newspaper. </p><p>"How much are they paying you?" Manson asked. </p><p>"A lot." </p><p>"A lot to you is probably nothing for them." </p><p>"Why, are you going to offer me money to let you go?” Trent asked. “You’d probably just kill me and leave." </p><p>"Why would I bother bribing you?” Manson asked. “I'm not going to be here very long. They'll find me." </p><p>"Do you think you're walking out of here without a ransom?"</p><p>"Do you think you're walking out of here and living happily ever after?” Manson replied. </p><p>"You're the one tied to the chair,” Trent reminded him. </p><p>"For now..." Manson’s deep calm, despite being held hostage, was eating away at something in the back of Trent's mind. "Are you getting paid if it doesn't work?" </p><p>“It’ll work.” </p><p>“You’re so sure of that. Do you even know what their plan is?” </p><p>“They’re good at what they do.” </p><p>“Is that what they told you?” Manson asked. “Do you think they’d be honest with you if they just needed someone to sit in a room for a few hours and not ask any questions?” </p><p>“They do their part, I do mine. That’s how these things work. I don’t need to ask questions.” </p><p>“You should anyway. Or do you really think you’re that stupid? Do you think you’re as stupid as they think you are?” </p><p>“I trust them,” Trent told him. </p><p>Manson’s face flooded with surprise. “Maybe you are that stupid. I’ll tell you something about how this business works--” </p><p>“You don’t have to,” Trent said. </p><p>“No, I’m doing you a favor,” Manson went on. “Everyone is going to ask you to trust them, and everyone’s going to lie to you. The only ones you can trust are the ones who tell you they’re going to lie to you. Because at least those bastards are honest about it.” </p><p>“Are you lying to me?” Trent asked. </p><p>“I don’t need to,” he told him. “Not yet. But I am a liar. So you can trust me.” He grinned. </p><p>“I’m not getting paid enough to listen to you.” Trent put down the paper, picked up the gun from the table and started to look around the room, checking the drawers and shelves of the shop. </p><p>“You’re a terrible therapist,” Manson joked. </p><p>Trent ignored him. </p><p>“Looking for a way out? Did they lock you in here with me? That would be fun. Like we’re stuck in an elevator together. But with more toys.” </p><p>Trent smashed a drawer closed, the tools inside making a messy jangling sound. </p><p>“Or is it a more metaphorical ‘way out’? Are you searching for meaning in your meaningless life as some broke, second-tier henchman?” </p><p>“I’m looking for something to shut you up.” </p><p>“If you can’t find anything, you can always use yourself,” he suggested. </p><p>Trent looked back at him from a shelf of assorted hardware. “What?” </p><p>“We’re stuck here, I’m bored, we might as well have some fun.” </p><p>Trent stared. “What is wrong with you?” </p><p>“Most things,” he replied lightly. “Let me know if you can’t find something. I’m almost hoping you won’t.” </p><p>As Trent rummaged through the workshop, Manson watched. Eventually, he yawned, his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezed closed. </p><p>Trent put the barrel of the gun into the opening, which interrupted him closing his mouth. “I could just use this,” Trent suggested. </p><p>Looking surprised but only mildly perturbed, Manson locked eyes with him and extended his tongue out to slide down the underside of the barrel. Trent watched in horror as he pulled his head back and licked all the way up to the end. He swirled his tongue around the opening of the barrel, then closing his mouth around it, sucking at it and pulling off with a pop, a smirk lingering on his lips. </p><p>Trent pulled the gun back, looking at the wet spots on it. “Eugh.” Grimacing at the saliva marks, he tried to wipe it off on his jeans. </p><p>“Careful,” Manson warned. “You don’t want to shoot yourself in the leg. Or worse, the foot. How hilariously fitting would that be?” </p><p>Trent’s arm swung, a fist smashing him across the face. </p><p>“Ah!” </p><p>The sound that came out of Manson’s mouth wasn’t what Trent expected. It was less pain and more surprise, maybe even a gasp or a moan. </p><p>Taking only a few moments to re-orient himself, Manson turned back to Trent with a smile. “Is that what you’re into? This is going to be fun.” He shifted to lounge against the back of the chair, spreading out as much as he could and leaving himself more open. “Go on,” he invited, looking pleased with himself. “Hit me again.” </p><p>“Are you…” Trent paused. “You’re turned on by this.” </p><p>Manson’s smile got more crooked. “You can get in on this too. What else turns you on?” </p><p>“Just shut up,” Trent growled. </p><p>“Make me. I’m waiting.” </p><p>Trent stared at Manson for a moment, his face blank and unamused. </p><p>“If you want to be a tease, you have to at least put a little effort into it,” Manson told him. </p><p>“Fucking hell…” Trent went to sit down in the other chair again. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” </p><p>“Besides fuck me?” </p><p>Trent tensed suddenly, glaring at him with an intense flare of frustration. </p><p>Manson sighed, shifting in the chair. “I don’t know,” he replied incredulously. “Most people who kidnap someone and threaten them with a gun have a plan. It’s not my fault you didn’t think this through. Did you not understand that organized crime requires a certain degree of…” He paused, gazing at the ceiling as he feigned deep thought. “I don’t know, organization?” </p><p>“Would you stop trying to be a smartass?” </p><p>“Oh, I’m not trying,” he deadpanned. “I’m told that’s just the way I am. Naturally insufferable. It’s a chronic condition, you know. It’s not my fault.” </p><p>“You know what?” Trent stood again, raising the gun to point at him. “I don’t care about the plan. You’re getting to be more trouble than you’re worth, so you’d better stop talking.” </p><p>“Ooo, touchy. Tell me, does your anger always call the shots?” Manson asked. “Or does it let you do it sometimes?” </p><p>“I said stop talking or I’ll shot you.” </p><p>“There’s the answer,” Manson told him. “You just can’t resist an angry impulse, can you?” </p><p>“Alright.” Trent cocked the gun. </p><p>“Question,” Manson said coolly, taking his time with the words. “If I force your hand, and you kill me, is it really your choice to kill me? Or is it me deciding? Because I know how to push your buttons to make you do what I want.” </p><p>“You want to try me?” </p><p>“I don’t know,” he pondered. “Do I want to push the button?” He considered for a moment. “Sure, why not?” He locked eyes with Trent. “Shoot me.” </p><p>“Don’t try me.” </p><p>“I already am. Shoot me. Do I need to push some more buttons to make you do it?” </p><p>Trent’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “Don’t.” </p><p>“Why? Are you afraid you’ll lose control of yourself? Maybe that’s why you’re so aggressive. Why you want to be the big man with the scary gun and control other people. Because you don’t have control over your emotions.” </p><p>Trent shifted his grip on the gun slightly.  </p><p>“You can’t even control your own brain.” </p><p>“Shut up.” </p><p>“Oh, am I getting closer? Let’s see how many more buttons it’ll take to make you do it.” A wicked grin bloomed over his face. “How many buttons until you do what I want…?” He leaned forward, and relishing the words, he hissed “…you fucking coward.” </p><p>Trent inhaled sharply, his grip tightening as he tilted the gun slightly. “I’m warning you…” </p><p>“Ooo. One wasn’t enough.” Manson leaned back in the chair again, as casually as he could in the ropes. “Okay, how about--” </p><p>“Don’t,” Trent warned again, taking a step forward, the gun just inches from his head.</p><p>“Are you running out of intimidating things to do with a gun?” Manson asked dryly.</p><p>Trent moved even closer, partially leaned over him, their faces close, and pressed the barrel of the gun into Manson’s skin, at the place where the throat met the underside of the chin.  </p><p>“Apparently so. You’re not very bright, are you?” he asked in a condescending tone. </p><p>Rage swelled behind Trent’s eyes.</p><p>“Hm. Two so far. You’re not doing very well, honey. I don’t think it’s ever been this easy to get someone so worked up.” </p><p>Trent’s face, now so close to his, was reddening. Whether it was anger or shame it didn’t matter. It was all the same right now: fuel for the fire. </p><p>“Are you ever going to pull the trigger? Or are you going to be a failure, like you are with everything else?” </p><p>Trent broke eye contact, looking slightly to the side. Maybe in defeat, maybe in a desperate attempt for emotional control. </p><p>“That was three. Why aren’t you looking at me?” Manson asked. “Are you scared of a man tied up with a gun to his head? Usually it’s the other way around. But you’re scared of me, aren’t you?” </p><p>“No.” Trent still didn’t look back. </p><p>“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” </p><p>He still didn’t. </p><p>“Look me in the eye, you pathetic thing. Do yourself a favor. At least try to save what’s left of your dignity. This is getting painful to watch.” </p><p>With a shaky inhale, Trent’s green eyes turned towards his again. </p><p>“That was four,” Manson informed him. Examining his expression, he asked “Have you ever even killed anyone before?” </p><p>No answer. </p><p>“Oh, a murder virgin. That might explain why you’re so bad at this. Alright…” he mused. “I guess I have to help you--” </p><p>“I don’t want to hurt you,” Trent warned. </p><p>“What you want doesn’t matter. It’s what your anger wants. That’s what’s really in control. Are you ready for five? Was your father like this? Angry and impulsive?” </p><p>Something changed in Trent’s face. It was slight, but Manson noticed. </p><p>“Did daddy get mad at you because you were never good enough? Did you always do things wrong because you were too stupid to know better?” </p><p>With their bodies so close together, he could see even more cracks forming in Trent’s composure. </p><p>“There was something wrong with you, wasn’t there? Or you did something bad. Really bad… Why else would he hate you so much? He was your dad. He was supposed to care. But you were too fucked up for even him to love you.” </p><p>Trent’s face was too close to hide his forceful, shaky exhale. </p><p>“Did you grow up to be just like him?” </p><p>“No…” Trent growled through gritted teeth, jamming the gun a little farther into Manson’s neck. </p><p>Manson had to tilt his head back, but he didn’t break eyes contact with Trent. “But your tone and your actions say yes. ‘Yes, I did grow up to be just like daddy!’” Manson said in a mocking, childish tone. </p><p>“Stop it,” Trent snarled. </p><p>“’I’m going to be a bad man just like my dad!’” he continued in the child-like voice. “’I’m going to kill a man! Then I’ll never be able to tell myself I’m not like him! Never ever again! I’ll always be like him!’” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“’No… I’ll be even worse than him!’” </p><p>“STOP IT.” </p><p>“Did you tell him that too?” Manson said, his voice back to its cold, casual tone. “He didn’t listen either, did he?” </p><p>“Just stop!” </p><p>“Are you asking me?” </p><p>“Yes. Just stop it.” </p><p>“That’s not very polite.” </p><p>Trent struggled to keep his breathing even and deep. “Please. Please stop.” </p><p>“Why should I?” </p><p>“I can’t take it. Please, just--” </p><p>“I don’t care about you. Give me a better reason.” </p><p>“I won’t kill you.” Trent lowered the gun from his throat, taking a step back. “I’ll let you go.” </p><p>“But what if I want you to kill me?” </p><p>Trent’s eyes kept darting towards him but they could never stay there, veering away to glance at the ground, the door, the walls, the gun in his hand, moving restlessly. </p><p>“What if I want to mangle your soul?” Manson said. “To leave you as a man who will always be haunted by this moment, unable to ever undo it, wondering why you couldn’t do the right thing. Left with a cracked and defiled soul, in constant fear of what your dark side might do. Either that or a complete monster who got rid of all conscience and feeling just to cope with what it’s done. Becoming a thing that’s feared and shunned and that isn’t seen as human anymore. Because it isn’t. Either way, you’ll be just some horrific little creature dragging itself around on the earth until it’s time for it to die.” </p><p>Trent stood still, paralyzed in the moment and focused completely on thin air. </p><p>“Well?” Manson asked. “Should I make you do it? Or are you going to convince me not to?” </p><p>“I don’t want to,” Trent said quietly. </p><p>“That doesn’t mean I’m going to do what you want,” he informed him. </p><p>“Please. I--” </p><p>“Beg me.” </p><p>He drew in a shaky breath. “Please stop.” His voice was soft. “Please…” </p><p>“You call that begging?” Manson asked, unimpressed. </p><p>Trent’s voice rose. “Please, God, just--” </p><p>“God doesn’t want anything to do with you,” Manson told him. “And as much as I hate that guy, I can’t blame him for wanting to forget about such a miserable mistake like you.” </p><p>“Sorry, I’m sorry. I just--please stop.” </p><p>“Is that supposed to be convincing?” He sounded almost offended. “Are you this bad at everything you do?” </p><p>“No, please,” Trent knelt in front of him, looking up. “Just stop. That’s all. Please. I’ll do what you want.” </p><p>“Anything?” </p><p>“Anything.” </p><p>Manson held his gaze, cold, unimpressed, almost bored. </p><p>After a few moments, Trent’s eyes quickly switched to looking at the ground. </p><p>Manson sighed. “How many times do I have to say it? Look. At. Me.” </p><p>Trent raised his eyes to meet his. Conflicted. Desperate. Hopeful. </p><p>“Show me. Show me you’d do anything. And if you get it right, if you actually manage to do the right things… I’ll stop.” </p><p>Taking a shaky breath, Trent stood up and took a few steps back, sliding the cartridge out of the gun and carefully placing them on the empty chair. He looked back for approval. </p><p>Manson raised his eyebrows. “And?” </p><p>He went back and unloaded the bullets from the cartridge and the chamber. He poured them from his palm and onto the floor, where they hit the concrete with a heavy, dull ringing sound. He put the gun and cartridge on the floor too. </p><p>Manson sighed impatiently. “Anything else?” </p><p>Trent went over and untied him, working out the knots in the rope. They fell to the floor. </p><p>Manson stood up, slowly stretching and taking a few strides around the room as Trent stood by waiting, watching him for an indication of what to do next. </p><p>He fixed him with a look, then flicked his eyes down momentarily. </p><p>Trent understood and got down to kneel on the floor, looking up at him for more instructions. </p><p>But he just stared down at him. “You’ve only done the obvious things. I desperately want you not to be stupid. Don’t disappoint me.” </p><p>Trent’s eyes flicked around the room, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. The door. The unloaded gun. The tools on the walls. Then they lingered on the chair Manson had just been sitting in. </p><p>“Now you’re getting somewhere,” Manson prompted him, with a condescending tone. “Connect the dots.” </p><p>Eyeing him for approval, Trent went to sit on the chair, leaning back and wrapping his hands around the back rails. </p><p>Manson circled around him to the back, taking the ropes from the floor and wrapping them around his arms. “Be a good boy, now.” He tied knots securing Trent to the chair. “At least until I get your training wheels on.” </p><p>As the last knots were secured, a kind of panic slowly began to set in for Trent. </p><p>Manson’s hands traveled up his arms to his shoulders, then slid up to his neck, sending chills down his spine. “Now the real fun starts,” Manson murmured. </p><p>He draped his arms around Trent and ran his hand down his chest towards his crotch. Trent was frozen. Something in the back of his mind was desperate for--and scared of--whatever was going to happen next. </p><p>But the hand took a detour, reaching into the pocket of his jeans to pull out his wallet. </p><p>Manson stood up again, wandering back to where Trent could see him as he looked through it, shuffling through cards. He stopped on one and pulled it out, tossing the wallet aside. </p><p>"Michael Trent Reznor…” Manson read off. </p><p>Trent’s blood ran cold. </p><p>“Oh, you live downtown. I think I know that area. Is that near where we are now? Or did it take a while to get here?" Manson paced leisurely, looking at the license. “What do people call you? Just Michael?” </p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Trent told him. </p><p>“Why not?” Manson asked. “I know so much about you, but I don’t know your name.” </p><p>“You don’t need to,” Trent insisted, secretly desperate. “It doesn’t matter. I’m no one.” </p><p>“Is that what the people who hired you said? That’s mean. At least I care,” Manson teased. </p><p>“You already know where I live, you--"</p><p>“Mike?” Manson cut him off, watching him intently. “No? Mike doesn’t seem quite like you,” Manson thought out loud. “And Mikey is probably too sweet and cute. Either that or ironically macho. No…” He held up the ID, comparing the picture to the real person. “You might just be a Michael.” He watched Trent’s expression, but it stayed uneasy and tense. “Hm. Not Michael?” </p><p>“You don’t need to know. Just let it go.” </p><p>Manson opened his hand and the ID fell to the floor with a flat plastic clatter. “Mick?” </p><p>“Stop.” </p><p>“I just want to know your name. I want to know who you are.” He walked back to the chair, stepping on the ID on the way. He stood close enough that Trent had to look up to watch him. “You should be flattered someone cares so much. Most people probably wouldn’t even give you a second glance.” He brushed a hand along the side of Trent’s face. </p><p>Trent jerked his head away. </p><p>“Hm… no wonder. Not very friendly. I’ll give you some advice: being nice to the right people will do you more good than being touchy.” Manson paced leisurely in a circle around Trent, looking him up and down. “Now what am I going to do with you…?” </p><p>A heavy, dark feeling began to settle in the pit of Trent’s stomach. </p><p>“I should punish you for being so aggressive with me earlier. Or torture you for information.” He bent down so he was level with Trent’s face. “That could be fun. Do you want to do that?” </p><p>“You’re asking if I want you to torture me?” Trent asked, to clarify. </p><p>“Or punish you. Some people are into that.” Manson still had his continuous, unnerving calm. “Are you?” </p><p>Trent wasn’t sure it would make any difference, but he still told him “No.”</p><p>“Hm. Not torture. Humiliation?” </p><p>“No,” Trent responded, almost frantically. “What the hell are you doing?” </p><p>“I thought it was obvious, but apparently I have to explain everything to you,” Manson told him.<br/>
“I want to figure out what you’re into.” </p><p>“Why?” asked Trent. </p><p>“Why not?” asked Manson. “I’ve been wondering ever since you hit me. You didn’t seem to enjoy it. Was it that you don’t like giving the pain? Maybe you’d rather get it.” </p><p>“I’m not a freak like you,” Trent said. </p><p>“Freaks always deny it out loud until they learn that being a freak isn’t a bad thing. It’s actually fun. And no one has to know.” Manson went behind him again to rest his arms around Trent’s shoulders and leaned down so his mouth was near Trent’s ear again. “You can say whatever you want but I’ll say this: us freaks, we know our kind when we see them.” </p><p>Trent could almost feel his breath on the back of his neck, but if he moved, it would be showing how deeply Manson was digging around in his head. So he stayed still. </p><p>“Well… what turns you on? I’m guessing it’s not having control. You would have taken advantage of that when you had me where you are now. I even invited you to and you didn’t.” Manson stood up, his hands on Trent’s shoulders. He started massaging them, causing Trent to rock forward and back slightly in a strangely intimate way that seemed discordant with what was going on. </p><p>Trent glared ahead. Whatever he was feeling, it was intense. And it was hard to contain. </p><p>“You’re so tense,” Manson observed. “Don’t worry, I won’t judge. I’m a freak too. You just have to tell me what you want.”</p><p>Trent was silent. </p><p>“If you don’t tell me, I can’t give you what you want. Which means I’d have no choice but to give you something you don’t want.” </p><p>Trent wanted to fight back. But he couldn’t figure out how. And he was frozen. Like he almost didn’t want Manson to stop. As if he wanted it, but would never admit it. </p><p>“I bet it’s control,” Manson continued. “You had no trouble denying the others. And it’s so easy to control you,” he told Trent. </p><p>Manson’s hands slipped off his shoulders and he circled back in front of him. Trent was relieved to not have him so close behind, unable to see him. But having to look up at the careful stare watching his every expression wasn’t much better. </p><p>“I bet no one’s ever figured that out. Most people have more self-control. But not you. You’re controlled by your anger and your cock. So as long as someone knows how to control those, they control you.” </p><p>He paused, but Trent didn’t say anything back. He was almost afraid to. Afraid it would be used against him. </p><p>“You’ve just been waiting for someone to make you do something, whether you knew it or not,” Manson continued. “And now I get to be the first to play with you. What a fun little toy.” </p><p>Something in him told Trent to deny it. Call out Manson for the sick sadist he was. But deep in his subconscious, he didn’t want him to stop. He wanted more. Desperately. </p><p>“Oh,” Manson was looking down at Trent’s crotch. He was half hard. “I would have liked for you to use your words, but your body seems to be talking for you. I guessed right.” </p><p>“It’s not--” </p><p>“Don’t deny yourself something you want just because other people think it’s wrong,” Manson told him. “Do you want to be controlled?” </p><p>Trent let out a tense exhale and tilted his head back to the ceiling to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t deny how turned on he was. He just had no idea how it happened. He wanted relief, he wanted it fast, and he wanted to not think about it. </p><p>“Maybe.” Trent cursed himself. Why did he say that? </p><p>“Well, that’s progress,” Manson said. “But you’re still being ridiculous. No one’s here to see you. And you could always tell them the big bad mob boss made you do it.” </p><p>Trent couldn’t handle it. The impulsive, distracted mind state of arousal wasn’t combining well with trying to fight back against everything Manson was saying. And he was also fighting himself. Because part of him knew Manson was right. </p><p>“How about I ask you one more time?” Manson proposed. “But this time, you only answer yes or no.” </p><p>The feeling in Trent’s stomach was stronger than he ever remembered it being. It was like solid lead or hot coals. </p><p>“Are you turned on by someone controlling you?” </p><p>Trent answered “Yes.” He didn’t know why. But he knew it was true. </p><p>“There we go,” Manson said. “Let’s see if I’m right about something else…” </p><p>Dread. Mixed with arousal. That was the feeling. </p><p>“If anything’s stronger than your anger towards other people, it’s your anger towards yourself.” Manson slowly knelt in front of Trent. “So much that you might want to hurt yourself sometimes. Psychologically. Am I right?” </p><p>Trent nodded hesitantly. </p><p>“Do you want to try hurting physically for a change?” Manson reached out and pushed the hem of Trent’s shirt up. The rise and fall of Trent’s chest quickened. “I’ll give you a taste…” He dug his nails into Trent’s skin and dragged them down the sides of his chest. </p><p>Trent stifled a surprised moan, his eyes wide. </p><p>“Was that a yes?” </p><p>Trent sat stiffly, a new batch of thoughts shooting around, untamed, in his head. </p><p>“I just need an answer,” Manson prompted. “Yes or no?” </p><p>Trent nodded. </p><p>“What was that?” </p><p>“Yes,” he whispered. </p><p>“To what?” </p><p>“Do it again,” Trent said quietly. “Hurt me.”</p><p>“You’re not hard to figure out, are you?” Manson asked. He pushed the shirt up as far as it could go, holding it up with one hand while the other dug nails into Trent’s side. </p><p>Trent’s breath stuttered. The pain wasn’t too much, but it was new. It held on to his mind and wouldn’t let it go. He closed his eyes, trying to stay grounded.</p><p>So he didn’t anticipate teeth on his nipple. </p><p>A sharp, quick noise of surprise and pain escaped. Manson’s tongue flicked at the sensitive area before nipping at it again. </p><p>“Yes, fuck,” Trent heard himself saying. </p><p>“You really are turned on by this.” Manson chuckled. “What a damaged soul,” he said affectionately. Taking Trent’s chin in his hand, he tilted it up and kissed him, pressing his tongue in as Trent opened his mouth obediently and felt himself respond. </p><p>Manson pulled away. “You do realize that someone might think you wanted this to happen,” he teased. His thumb flicked over Trent’s nipple. “They might think you’re an accomplice, that is.” </p><p>Reality started seeping back in to Trent’s consciousness, bringing panic with it. </p><p>But it was quickly pushed aside again as Manson undid Trent’s jeans and pulled out his cock. Spitting onto one hand, he began to work the length while the other hand scratched down Trent’s chest, scraping the nipple on the way down. </p><p>“Do you know what I think?” Manson asked. Still working his cock, the other hand reached under to grab the balls, holding them a little too tightly and digging in his nails slightly. </p><p>Trent squirmed in his grip, but it only intensified the feeling. </p><p>“I think you knew,” Manson said. “You’re so worked up over pain and being controlled. There’s no way you didn’t know it.” </p><p>Manson scraped up the sides of his cock, then licked over it with hot, wet strokes. The whiplash from sharp to soft, pain to pleasure coaxed a stuttering groan out of Trent. </p><p>“But you’ve been denying yourself. You seem so new to this, I have to assume you’ve never done it before.” Manson was unrelenting, pumping his hand and then nipping at the skin near the base of the cock, in the slight valley where the leg met the torso. </p><p>Trent whimpered. </p><p>“I can tell. You’re incredibly sensitive.” He rolled his tongue around the head of Trent’s cock and sucked at it before pulling off again. “But you’re not lasting very long, are you?” he asked. </p><p>Trent shook his head, his face flushed and his brain scrambled. “I’m gonna come soon.” </p><p>Manson suddenly removed his hands. Trent groaned. </p><p>“If you can’t last, I’ll just have to make you.” He traced his finger up Trent’s length, stopping at the spot below the slit. He wrapped his hand around and rubbed at the spot. </p><p>Trent tried to stifle a moan but it came out as a grunt. </p><p>“Are you upset?” </p><p>Trent nodded. </p><p>“Why? Doesn’t it feel good?” Manson asked mischievously. </p><p>Trent squirmed against his fingers, trying to get something--anything--more. </p><p>“I can stop if you want,” Manson offered. His finger stopped moving, but his hand still held his cock. </p><p>Trent almost laughed, but in the way that someone tries to process pain. “Fuck you.” </p><p>“Was that a yes?” Manson removed his hand. </p><p>“No, please, just--come on.” </p><p>“I don’t know what you want unless you tell me,” Manson teased. </p><p>“Touch me.” </p><p>A hand ran up Trent’s chest, stopping at the nipple to gently pinch it. </p><p>“Ah-- …What?” </p><p>“You said to touch you. You didn’t say where.” </p><p>Trent laughed again, sounding like someone on the brink of insanity, but not quite there yet. He writhed against the ropes. “Fuck you. My cock.” </p><p>“What about it?” </p><p>Trent’s head dropped back as he tried to keep from making unholy noises. The climax was slipping away, but not fast enough to ignore it. He couldn’t let it go, but he couldn’t finish it either. “Touch it. Touch my cock. Please. Please, I’m desperate.”</p><p>“How desperate?” Manson wondered out loud. </p><p>“I’ll do anything, you know that.” </p><p>His hands went back down and started working their way down the length. When one reached the end, he let go and started again at the top. It was relief, but it was maddeningly slow. It wasn’t enough. </p><p>“Anything?” The sinister and playful tone immediately made Trent regret he said it. “How about this: I’ll go easy on you. I’ll save it for later. A little I. O. U.” </p><p>Trent’s hips twitched up. His body had been on edge for too long and was trying to do things itself. </p><p>“Stay still.” Manson put one hand on Trent’s lower stomach on the soft skin between his hip bones, holding him down as the other worked the base of his cock and his mouth closed over the tip again. </p><p>Trent let out a long, obscene groan as Manson’s tongue licked up the length and around the head, then took him in deeper and sucked. Then he moved the tip of the tongue around the slit and at the spot just below it, sometimes quickly swirling around the head. </p><p>Manson pulled off for a moment and Trent felt a spike of fear. What if he left him at the edge again? What if he never intended to let him finish? </p><p>“Please,” he moaned, trying to squirm but Manson’s hand on his stomach reminded him to stay still. </p><p>“If you’re going to beg, do it right,” Manson told him. </p><p>“Please, I did what you wanted.” Trent said. “Please don’t stop. Please can I come?” </p><p>“That was cute. But why don’t you try a little harder?” Manson suggested. </p><p>“Please,” Trent repeated, breathy. “Whatever you want, I already told you. Please, Sir.” </p><p>“Oh, I get a ‘Sir,’” Manson said, amused. His mouth returned to Trent’s cock, licking up the sides, but it didn’t stay for long. “Good boy. But why don’t you use my name?” </p><p>“Manson,” Trent said, like he was invoking a demon or a god. </p><p>“Yes?” he teased, lazily pumping up and down the shaft. </p><p>“Manson, please,” Trent said. He was so close, but he had been for so long now. It was strangely incredible. It was agonizing. It was getting difficult to stay coherent. “Manson. I just--please.” His voice was desperate and breathy, almost defeated. “You can control me. You made your point. Please, let me finish.”</p><p>Manson took him in deep, but not for long. He sucked at him but only enough to build him just a little bit closer to the peak before he stopped, holding his cock and rubbing the patch of skin below the slit again. “What if I don’t?” Manson asked. </p><p>“What?” Trent’s mind was mostly on the sensations happening to him, unable to turn away, like a car crash put in slow motion. </p><p>“What if I never let you finish? What if I worked you all the way up to the edge and just…” he removed his hand. “Left you there.” </p><p>A shudder ran through Trent’s body. “You sick fuck,” he groaned. </p><p>“But so are you,” Manson reminded him. “Aren’t you?” </p><p>He swirled his tongue and sucked some more, the tension in Trent’s body starting to melt from the relief. </p><p>But it stopped again. The feeling of dropping from too high of a height hit Trent in the stomach. He knew there was a real chance that Manson wouldn’t let him climax, even after all the teasing and begging. </p><p>“Aren’t you?” Manson repeated slyly. </p><p>Trent nearly sobbed, but he held it back, trying to control his breathing. “Yes. I’m a sick fuck. Please, Manson, just let me finish.” </p><p>Manson’s nails scraped down along the shallow valleys just inside Trent’s hip bones as he took Trent in his mouth again. </p><p>Trent’s breathing changed slightly. He was close. Closer than he had been before. </p><p>But Manson stopped, pulling away. </p><p>Trent tilted his head back, his mouth clenched shut trying--and failing--to suppress a scream. He needed to come. Physically needed to. </p><p>“Am I being mean?” Manson asked innocently. </p><p>“Yes!” Trent yelled. The ropes dug into his arms as his body tried to twist out of them, but they were unyielding. He couldn’t do anything. It was all up to what Manson wanted, and Trent had no idea what that actually was. “Manson, come on, please.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “You won. You won. I like being tied up. I like being hurt. I like being controlled. I’m a disgusting freak like you. I’ll do anything. Please. Anything. Please ju--” </p><p>Manson’s mouth closed over him again, but this time the strokes of his tongue were broader, more intense, and his hand worked faster. Manson took him in deep, and Trent let out a sound half way between a whine and a moan. Manson kept working him and scraped his nails down Trent’s sides again. When he took Trent’s cock deep into his mouth, Trent finally came, gasping with relief. </p><p>Manson smiled at him as he swallowed, wiping off a bit of cum off of his lip and sucking it off his finger. There was something smug about it. He was claiming a victory. </p><p>Trent’s breath was heavy and his mind was reeling. He had never had sex like that before. Feeling like he would never climax. The actual threat of it happening. The sheer intensity when it finally did happen. It left him adrift for a moment. </p><p>Manson had left the room. Trent’s heart stopped for a moment. Then he remembered why. Reality smashed over his head as he heard a number being dialed on the phone in the other room. Fear set in as Manson’s words drifted through the doorway and reminded Trent of the precarious situation he was stuck in. </p><p>“Tim, it’s me…. Yes I know. Well I got kidnapped. Apparently, I was supposed to be a hostage… Yes, it didn’t last very long, but I had a little fun.… Of course… It’s a repair shop on fifty-third. Bring the others with you, just in case.” </p><p>Manson returned to the room where Trent was. </p><p>Transfixed, Trent watched Manson kneel in front of him again. He politely tucked Trent’s cock back into his underwear and zipped and buttoned up his jeans. Then he tugged his shirt back down to cover his torso. </p><p>“What are you going to do with me?” Trent asked. </p><p>Manson stood above him, looking down. The seconds were made longer by fear. </p><p>“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” Trent told him. </p><p>“No, I’m not going to kill you,” he said, tilting Trent’s chin up. “I could. People who make stupid decisions like getting involved with mobs usually have to face nasty consequences. But you’re lucky. I saw you for what you are.” </p><p>Trent turned his head away, out of Manson’s grip. “Which is?” </p><p>“You’re a good man,” Manson informed him. “Unfortunately. You could have killed me, or at least beat the shit out of me, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You don’t have it in you. It makes you weak. But it makes you oh so sweet to toy with. Deep down, you just want to do the right thing. It’s adorable.” </p><p>Trent didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. “So you’re not going to kill me because you think I’m pathetic?” </p><p>“No. I’m not going to kill you because I have very specific taste in frivolous things.” </p><p>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Trent demanded. </p><p>“People don’t like gold because it’s sturdy and practical,” Manson explained. “It’s nearly useless for a lot of things. People like it because it’s pretty and soft, and it can be made into almost anything. I happen to like pretty, pliable things. So why would I throw something like that away? Especially with a body like yours. You’re coming with me.” </p><p>“No I’m not,” Trent told him. </p><p>“Remember that little I. O. U.?” Manson asked. “I’m collecting it now.” </p><p>“That doesn’t count for something like this.” </p><p>“You said anything,” Manson reminded him. “It’s not my fault you didn’t specify exemptions.”  </p><p>“You know that’s bullshit. I’m not going with you,” Trent insisted. </p><p>Manson looked taken aback. “Would you rather die? It would be easier to kill you. I can arrange that.” </p><p>Trent seethed. </p><p>“Well would you?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Good. You live for me now,” he told him. </p><p>“No I don’t.” Trent was getting more desperate to hold his ground somewhere. Anywhere. “I never will.” </p><p>“It’s close enough to the truth, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be alive unless I wanted you to be. You live because I want you. And you agree: you want to live. So you live for me.” </p><p>Trent looked ahead, determined to not comply. He didn’t respond. </p><p>“Say it.” Manson’s tone was syrupy. “Why don’t you say it for me?” </p><p>Trent, unable to look anywhere else, glared at him. </p><p>“Say it even if you think it isn’t true.” His hand reached out to rest on Trent’s throat. </p><p>Trent got the message. “I live for you,” he stated, his voice stiff and blunt. </p><p>“There we go,” Manson cooed, lifting his hand away. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good boy. I’m glad I decided to keep you alive.” </p><p>Trent, twisted and defeated, let Manson untie one arm and tie it to the other behind him before untying him from the chair. “Now you’re ready to go.” </p><p>“Go to hell,” Trent muttered. </p><p>“It won’t be that bad,” Manson said. “A few people have called me the devil, but I like to take care of my pretty things. You’ll be fine. As long as you don’t decide to be too much trouble.”</p><p>It wasn’t long until Manson’s men showed up. </p><p>“Bring that one with us,” Manson told them. “But if anyone asks, he’s face-down in a swamp outside the city with a fox dining on his arm. Understand?” The men took Trent’s arms and led him towards the door. </p><p>Trent walked with them, but as soon as he stepped outside, he started fighting back to shake them off. </p><p>He broke free of one of them, but only for a moment. The man grabbed him again, this time with an elbow around his neck, pulling him in close and making sure Trent felt the pressure on his throat. </p><p>Manson turned back to look at him. “Don’t make such a fuss,” he chastised. “If you want to be roughed up, just tell me. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.” </p><p>“Fuck you. You sick sociopath,” Trent spat. </p><p>“I know how to find you if you run away,” Manson reminded him. </p><p>Trent struggled against the man’s grip. </p><p>“Please,” Manson said, annoyed. “You’re not being logical. What would you do? Where would you go? How would you hide? If you come with me, you can live. But if you change your mind, let me know. I can always have you killed.” He stared coolly into Trent’s furious eyes. “Or I could do it myself, if you want something more personal.” </p><p>A hood was pulled over Trent’s head. He allowed himself to be led towards the car. He was grabbed under his arms and around his legs, lifted, and tossed into the trunk. </p><p>With his hands bound behind him, seeing nothing but black, the trunk door slammed shut.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was supposed to be a standalone, but there are a few more chapters in the works. They're mostly written but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll get finished soon. (Writer problems...) More dubcon, manipulation and sexual repression, along with pretentiousness and some guilty pleasure tropes.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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